


I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

by bella8876



Series: 30 days of Sterek drabbles [30]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella8876/pseuds/bella8876
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just…I want to go home,” Stiles whispered. “I could sleep if I was at home.” And Derek knew that was a lie, because they’d tried. They’d tried so hard at first. They didn’t want to put him here, in this place, with these people, but there was nothing else they could do at the time. With the Alpha Pack still breathing down their necks, it was the only way to keep him safe. It killed the Sheriff the day they dropped him off. Stiles didn’t understand. Derek’s pretty sure he still doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Day 30 of 30 days of Sterek.
> 
> Prompt: "I clap my hand over my mouth, but the screams slip between my fingers."
> 
> Well this is it. It's done. It was really hard but I'm glad I did it. It left me energized to write more and gave me a whole batch of new story ideas, as well as new takes on WIP. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck with us through the whole thing and I appreciate all the Kudo's and wonderful comments. You guys seriously rock.
> 
> Also Stef, my angel, without whom I would have given up on this halfway through. You are my prefect cheerleader.

Today was a good day. 

Derek liked the good days. There hadn’t been a lot of those lately. 

Derek was _due_ a good day. 

He was telling Stiles the story about he and Isaac trying to hang wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom and Stiles was laughing. Derek couldn’t remember the last time Stiles laughed. His eyes were bright and shining and _clear_ and he was clutching at his sides because he was laughing so hard. 

Today was a _really_ good day. 

“Whose bright idea was it to put you two in charge of putting up wallpaper?” Stiles asked, “Who even puts up wallpaper anymore?” Derek and Stiles looked at each other and rolled their eyes. 

“Lydia,” they said in unison, Stiles shaking his head. 

“He got the glue out of his hair eventually,” Derek shrugged and Stiles dissolved into laughter again. Derek wanted to make him laugh all the time. 

“Are there pictures?” Stiles asked. “Please tell me there are pictures.” Stiles was practically bouncing in his seat in anticipation. 

“I’m not allowed to bring my phone in here, remember,” Derek said softly and Stiles face fell for a second before he broke out into an even bigger grin, this one just a little bit less open and carefree. The reminder of where exactly they were clouding the previous light hearted mood. 

“Maybe you could print some out,” Stiles offered. “For the next time you visit.” 

“Yeah,” Derek’s voice wavered a bit but he smiled. “Next time.” 

“So tell me about the kitchen, have you picked out a countertop yet?” Stiles asked. 

“We went with the marble, I was outvoted,” Derek said. “They installed it last week.” 

“The marble is better,” Stiles pointed out. 

“There’s less maintenance with the granite,” Derek countered. 

“But, _marble_ ,” Stiles smiled. 

“That was basically Lydia’s argument in a nutshell,” Derek shook his head. “And I will admit, it looks good.” Derek said grudgingly. “Don’t tell her I said that.” Derek added. 

“Yeah,” Stiles smile fell. “No chance of that.” He looked down and Derek cursed himself for bringing it up, but he’d been so good and the conversation had been so easy, he’d almost forgotten. 

“She’s been really busy Stiles,” Derek reached a hand out, hesitating for a second before settling it on Stiles’s wrist. “Everyone has you know, with school and work and--” Derek cut himself off before he could say _life_. But Stiles knew. 

Because Stiles always knew. He knew all the things Derek wanted to say. Knew all the thing that Derek _couldn’t_ say. He’d always been able to read Derek like a book, understand him in ways no one else ever could. Not even Laura. 

“I guess I’m just lucky that you’re a man of leisure,” Stiles smiled again and Derek let his thumb run lightly along the inside of Stiles’s wrist. He blushed, ducking his head and pulling his arm away, almost reluctantly. Derek’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and grab it back, to feel Stiles skin underneath his again, feel the blood rushing through his veins. But the last time he’d done that…well it hadn’t been a good day. 

Stiles blushed harder as if he could tell what Derek was thinking and brought a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it absently. His fingers froze and his body tensed and Derek watched, his heart rate spiking as Stiles’s finger traced the long jagged scar that started at the bottom of his hair line and disappeared under his shirt. 

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, his voice suddenly shaky.

“Yeah,” Derek asked, his own voice rough, because he knew what was coming. 

“I can’t—“ Stiles screwed his eyes shut tightly, his fingers digging into the back of his neck. “There are things that I can’t remember. A lot of things.” Stiles admitted. “And there are things that I think I remember _wrong_. Like my mom.” Stiles swallowed hard. “She’s dead isn’t she?” 

“Yeah Stiles, she’s dead,” Derek said, the lump in his throat making the words painful to push out. 

“Cause sometimes I think that she’s not, sometimes I think…and then I remember. But I don’t always know which one is real.” Stiles told him. 

“I know,” Derek said. 

“The werewolves are real right?” Stiles asked. “I remember the werewolves. And I ‘m not stupid, I know why I’m here. They say I’m crazy and they’re probably right. But the werewolves felt so real.” 

“The werewolves are real Stiles,” Derek said but Stiles seemed to be ignoring him. “Stiles look at me.” Stiles lifted his head and looked at Derek and he let his eyes flash red, just for a second. “The werewolves are real.” 

Stiles relaxed a bit at that, unshed tears welling up in his eyes. “Are you real?” Stiles whispered and Derek felt like all the air had just been sucked out of him. “Because you’re the only one that comes to visit,” he frowned. “Sometimes I think I made you up, that you’re not real, that you were never real. But sometimes you touch me. You can’t touch me if you’re not real can you?” 

“Stiles,” Derek said, reaching out slowly, grabbing Stiles’s face in his hand, cupping his jaw softly. “I’m real,” Derek said, his voice cracking as he drew Stiles to him until their foreheads were touching. “I’m real.” 

Stiles’s hands came up, clutching at Derek’s wrist, bitten off fingernails digging into his skin almost hard enough to draw blood but Derek basked in the pain, using it to ground him in the moment. Ground him to Stiles. “I’m real,” Derek whispered again, this time almost as much for himself as for Stiles. 

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, brushing Derek’s nose with his own, his relived exhale brushing over Derek’s face, sinking into his skin like the breath of life. 

They stayed like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s air until Stiles’s grip on Derek’s wrist loosened and then dropped all together. Reluctantly Derek pulled away, letting his finger brush along Stiles’s jaw before releasing the other man and sitting back in his chair. 

“How have you been sleeping?” Derek asked cautiously and Stiles shrugged. 

“Ok,” he said, even if Derek couldn’t have heard the tell tale skip in his heart beat the lie would have been made obvious by the dark circles under Stiles’s eyes. 

“The nightmares are back aren’t they?” Derek said. “They said you were screaming again last night. That if it keeps up they might have to sedate you.” 

  
“No,” Stiles shook his head. He hated being drugged. “I try to be quiet, I swear I do. I clap my hand over my mouth, but the screams slip between my fingers. I can’t keep them in, I _can’t_.” 

“I know,” Derek cut him off. “I know.” 

“I just…I want to go home,” Stiles whispered. “I could sleep if I was at home.” And Derek knew that was a lie, because they’d tried. They’d tried so hard at first. They didn’t want to put him here, in this place, with these people, but there was nothing else they could do at the time. With the Alpha Pack still breathing down their necks, it was the only way to keep him safe. It killed the Sheriff the day they dropped him off. Stiles didn’t understand. Derek’s pretty sure he still doesn’t. 

“I know, it’s just not the right time right now,” Derek said. 

“When?” Stiles looked up at him so hopeful and it had been such a good day and Derek just wanted to see him smile again, really smile, which was the only excuse Derek could think of for what he said next. 

“When the house is finished,” he blurted out. “You can come home when the house is finished.” 

Stiles whole face lit up and he launched himself across the table, throwing his arms around Derek’s neck and squeezing him tight. Derek allowed himself this, this one moment. He ducked his head into Stiles’s neck and took in a deep breath, digging through the stink of the other patients and the antiseptic hospital smell, through the tang of all the medication they had him on until he found _Stiles_. 

“Derek, Stiles,” Stiles pulled away and looked up at Christine, one of the day nurses. “Sorry, but visiting hours are over.” 

“Yeah,” Derek stood up and coughed, trying to get a hold of himself. “I should go.” 

“Don’t forget pictures next time,” Stiles reminded him and Derek nodded, swallowing around the lump that had reformed in his throat. 

“I won’t,” Derek promised before leaving. 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He always went to the Sheriff’s after his visits. He’s not sure why. They never actually talked about it. They never actually talked about Stiles. The Sheriff let Derek in and they sat on the couch in silence. Sometimes they watched a game. Sometimes they didn’t. But there was always whiskey. Derek matched the Sheriff drink for drink but the night always ended up with Sheriff passed out and Derek still painfully sober. 

He always cleaned up after himself, washed the glasses, put the whiskey back in the cabinet, then turned off all the lights and locked the doors on his way out. They both knew Stiles would have hated that. Would have hated that the Sheriff was slowly killing himself. That Derek was letting him. But maybe that’s why they did it. 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Derek let himself into the Hale house, exhaustion seeping into his bones. It was always like that after he visited Stiles. The smell of ash and rot assaulted him the second he stepped in the door as he picked his way through the ruin. He took the stairs carefully, the wood crumbling beneath his feet as he made his way to the only room on the second floor that still had a roof. Well a partial roof. 

There were no marble countertops, or stainless steel appliances set into warm dark wood cabinets. There were no hardwood floors in living room. No brand new tile in the bath. No Isaac there to help him wallpaper. No Lydia to pick out marble. He’d made it all up. 

The house Derek had been describing to Stiles didn’t exist. And neither did the pack that was helping him repair it. It was just a story, something he made up on one of Stiles’s bad days to lift his spirits. And it just kept growing. It wasn’t until Derek was too far into it that he realized the imaginary home he was building, the imaginary family, was all for Stiles. 

It was the home he probably would have made Derek built, the one they could have built together. Before the Alphas came. Before they lost Boyd and Erica. Before the Argents skipped town. Before Scott followed after them. Before Isaac finally gave up on him. 

Derek lay on the old mattress in the corner of the room and wondered what it would be like to do it for real. To start and pick up the pieces, put up new walls, slap on some paint. He imagined picking out a marble counter top, wondered how hard hanging wallpaper actually was. Imagined actually having pictures to show to Stiles, being able to tell Stiles the house was finished and he could come home. 

He’s not sure what possessed him to make that promise in the first place but now that he’d done it, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He could do it. He could fix up the house. He could bring Stiles home. Derek could take care of Stiles, he knows he could. He could do something right for once. 

Tomorrow he’d go to the hardware store. Maybe get the name of a good contractor. Maybe he’d even call Isaac, they could met up somewhere for coffee. Talk. 

Tomorrow could be a good day too. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumbling's](http://www.bella8876.tumblr.com/) kinda my thing.


End file.
